Send Me Into The Night
by BlueEyes444
Summary: They're both a little scarred, a little broken, a little lonely. -CharlieLavender. WIP.


**Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter._**

* * *

I.

The smell of stale vodka hangs in the air. Cigarette smoke lingers around her.

She downs her own vodka, roughly orders something stronger, and tries to ignore the funny stares the mauled side of her face is causing.

A feeling of disgust takes a hold of her. What right do they have, staring and mocking her scars, when they don't know what she went through?

She takes a sip of her, well, she's not sure what it is, but it's bitter and stronger then her previous drink so she doesn't care. She just wants to forget.

She catches movement from the corner of her eye and turns her head just in time to see a stranger sit down beside her. Red hair is pulled back in a sloppy and short ponytail, and a silver earring glistens from his ear. A pretty nasty burn covers the arm closet to her.

She doesn't try to hide her staring.

His voice is low and she can barely make out the words, "Your strongest, please." She raises her eyebrows and looks like she's not the only one running tonight.

As the bartender turns away, he faces her abruptly, blue eyes both tired and wry. "You know that staring is rude, right?" he asks dryly. She smiles. He might be fun.

He looks a bit older then her.

She leans closer, pushing her hair so it covers the left side of her face. A three year habit. "I know no such thing. And I wasn't staring, I was just _looking_."

He looks at her, raising an eyebrow. The bartender places his drink in front of him and he nods his thanks before turning back to her and saying, "Looking, hm? My bad. I was sure you were staring."

She takes a sip of her drink, and it's making her feel a little daring, a little freer then she has in years. "What can I say?" Her eyes fall downwards. "You have an amazing arse."

He stares at her then gives a deep laugh. "Oi, keep your eyes up here. And yes, I know. My arse is nice to look at."

She grins, takes another sip of her drink, experiencing a pleasant buzz. Whatever this stuff is, it's good. "Modest, aren't you?"

His lips curl up into a smirk. "That obvious?"

She adjusts her position on the bar stool, crossing her legs together. He's making her forget her scars, and the stares and oh, yes. She was right in her earlier guess.

He is fun.

* * *

Color him surprised when Lavender Brown starts chatting him up in his favorite neighborhood haunt. Because last he heard, she was definitely and one hundred percent dead.

But, here she is and well, stranger things have happened, so he lets it slide and if she wants the world to think she's dead, more power to her. He wonders if she recognizes him but decides against it when no spark of recognition flares in her eyes and besides, they haven't met before anyway.

So, he sits there and lets her flirt with him, a mixture of teasing and something he can't quite describe coating her words. He is not really sure what the warm feeling is that has settled in his stomach since he's never quite has felt it before so he ignores it.

He watches her take drink after drink, and he wonders if she does this often, an attempt to escape whatever demons that he knows that she's running from.

"So, what brings you here?" she asks, tapping one of her red painted nails on the rim of her glass.

This question makes him pause. He debates telling her that his dead brother drove him here tonight but decides against it. Instead he chooses the simple, "Couldn't sleep," and that's true.

She studies him, and a fleeting expression of sadness is on her face. But then she smiles and raises her glass and says, "I'll drink to that." He can't help but offer his own smile in return and he raises his glass as well before clinking it with hers. Taking his sip, he asks, "What about you? What brings you here?"

If he wasn't watching it, he wouldn't see the slight widening of her eyes. "Looking for a lovely bloke like yourself."

He raises an eyebrow. An obvious lie if he ever heard one. People reading is a favorite past-time of his and this girl, Lavender, is screaming tension. But, he doesn't push it because he knows he doesn't have the right. How would he feel if he was called out on one of his "I'm fine" lies, anyways?

So, he lets it slide and says instead, "Well, you must have been pretty lucky tonight."

It is then that his wristwatch gives a shrill beep. He swears silently at himself. Fifteen minutes. He really did lose trick of time. Sighing, he stands up. "Sorry, I've got to run. Work."

She raises her eyebrows, and the curiosity is so obvious-what kind of work did he do at three o'clock in the morning? But she doesn't say anything about it, just turns to the bartender and says, "Put it on my tab."

His lips turn upwards. "Thanks." Quickly, he grabs his wallet and hands her a business card before heading towards the door. "Call me anytime."

* * *

The redhead leaves her with a stunned feeling that she can't quite place and a small paper in her hand. She blinks, then stares down at the business card. It's blank expect for a number which is carelessly scrawled across it.

Hm.

She stuffs it down her shirt then turns back to the bartender, ordering another drink.

The world is full of possibilities.

One being a redhead stranger.

Possibilities indeed.


End file.
